In the City, a New Congregation Finds Her

She keeps safe our memory when nothing’s committed to stone.
Sibilant selvedge woman, thread and knots talkstory woman.

She whose memories not paperbound, lover of midnight words.
Scrawled myth upon flesh woman, indigo testimony tattoo
woman.

We bring her spirits we’ve captured in bottles.
Fire water woman, imbibes the spirits woman.

We bring her dried tobacco leaves and tea.
Exhales the word woman, fullmoon weaving woman.

She looses her thick hair from its pins and coils.
Litany liturgy woman, stitching suture woman.

She settles into her favorite chair, she always begins like this.
Soul gatherer woman, spiderweb songbird woman.

She breathes steam from tea, steeped stems and petals.
Piece and patchwork woman, down home cookin’ woman.

She crushes anise stars, sweetens nightmare into reverie.
Stone by stone woman, singed and soot woman.

She cups glazed clay between cracked hands.
Silver winged bird woman, riverine dream- filled woman.

She rubs together palms callused, she who conjures for us a feast.
Sugar tinctured moonwoman, twittering songstress moonwoman.

She whose eyes widen with black thundercloud and sea.
Salt luster sirenwoman, winter solstice madwoman.

She whose voice billows and peals, she whose eyes gaze nowhere.
Howling nomad madwoman, cut the bullshit madwoman.

Her lips release language not of paper sometimes (we think)
she forgets.
Older than the ocean woman, sargassum and seashell woman.

She who has kept vigil always, she of the wing- kissed sunset.
Sipping starlight woman, before there was a nailed god woman.